


The Sun Doesn't Help

by indevan



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, Gay Character, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-06 02:42:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12807888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indevan/pseuds/indevan
Summary: This mood doesn’t feel like him, this gnawing sadness.  It isn’t how he’s supposed to be.  He’s Goten, the happy-go-lucky second son of the savior of the universe.  He’s meant to be optimistic and counterbalance his boyfriend’s bouts of melancholy and melodrama.  He hates when he gets like that because he feels like he’s letting people down even if they can’t see him





	The Sun Doesn't Help

**Author's Note:**

> this is also TECHNICALLY an canon-divergent AU that i mention in, like, one line but didn't feel enough to tag for it

As Goten leaves work, a few of his co-workers on the same shift as him ask if he wants to get drinks.  He thinks that he might have if it wasn’t the tail end of a ten hour shift, if his feet weren’t hurt, and he had anything to change into.  He went through three pairs of scrubs today, and he has one more but going out to drink in scrubs feels.  Wrong.  He smiles and says another time.

He almost wishes that he said yes, though, when he walks into the empty apartment.  He sighs, not knowing what else he expected.  Trunks has been working around the clock since he was made head of the bioengineering department at Capsule Corps at the ripe old age of twenty-three.  He’s determined to prove that he’s deserving of the title and it isn’t solely the result of nepotism.  At least, that’s what he says.  Goten knows that his boyfriend has a tendency to focus on his work or what he wants to accomplish and put everything to the wayside: including him.

Goten strips his clothes and gets in the shower.  The hot water is on the fritz and he makes a note to ask Uncle Yamcha about it.  He lives further these days, out on that farm with Tien, but he’s their go to for repair jobs.  Goten’s miserable at it and Trunks’s idea is always to make some kind of incomprehensible gadget to fix it and always winds up making it ten times more confusing and oftentimes winds up breaking the original device  _ more. _

He towels himself off and fixes a bowl of leftover takeout for dinner.  Not for the first time, Goten considers learning to cook.  He’s watched his mother and brother enough to figure it out.  He and Trunks are wholly dependent on takeout and other people’s generosity.  Not tonight, though.  He’s sore and there’s no one’s sure, strong hands here to rub out his pains and aches.

The loneliness isn’t always bothersome, but it’s been two days since he’s seen Trunks.  Two days of long shifts of his own at the hospital and two days of trying to fend off pesky thoughts that tell him that Trunks is choosing work over him.

With a grunt of annoyance, he dumps his bowl in the sink and half-heartedly runs water over it.  Goten isn’t sure why he’s in such a mood.  Maybe it’s because he’s only halfway through his work week.  Two more days of ten hour shifts are between him and his weekend.  His weekend he’ll probably spend alone because Trunks is working himself to death in the lab.  Goten flops down on the couch and grinds the heels of his hands into his eyes, hard enough that little pinpricks of light pop in his eyes.  He thinks about just cutting his losses and going to sleep.  The thought of turning on the TV to watch something seems too daunting and his mind is swimming too much to try and read.

He hauls himself off of the couch and drags himself into bed.  This mood doesn’t feel like him, this gnawing sadness.  It isn’t how he’s supposed to be.  He’s Goten, the happy-go-lucky second son of the savior of the universe.  He’s meant to be optimistic and counterbalance his boyfriend’s bouts of melancholy and melodrama.  He hates when he gets like that because he feels like he’s letting people down even if they can’t see him.

Goten sighs and pulls the covers over his head, hoping for sleep to take him.

\--

His bad mood persists through work the next day and he’s certain that it affects his bedside manner.  This time, when the other nurses his age ask him if he wants to go out for drinks, he agrees.

There are five others and Goten only passingly knows their names.  He’s always been very good with faces but names have never been his strong suit.  The downside is that he’ll work with someone multiple times and by the time he realizes that he still doesn’t know their name, it’s too late to ask.

He orders a beer and sits between everyone, trading work stories.  They keep it lighthearted and not at all with the heavy stuff that befalls their job daily.  Goten considers himself lucky that no one died on him today.  He could make it easier on himself and  _ not _ be an ER nurse, but it would feel  _ wrong. _  He likes his job.  He likes the sense of purpose it gives him.

“He’s so hot,” one of his co-workers says, sighing into her phone.

Goten glances away from his beer to see who she’s talking about.  Before he can crane his neck, one of the other nurse’s is chiming in.

“Are you talking about  _ him _ again?” she asks, her voice teasing. “The  _ heir.” _

She nods.

“Imagine marrying him.  Getting all that money  _ and _ getting to be with the hottest guy in West City?”

Goten wonders who they’re talking about.  He has a feeling it might be Trunks.  No one at work knows that they’re dating.  He’s stopped by now and then to bring Goten lunch but people always assume he’s there because his grandfather writes a hefty check to Wukong Hospital every year.  Even then, no one notices  _ him. _  Not a lot of people know Goten at work.  Truthfully, in the year he’s been working at the hospital, this is the first time Goten’s ever accepted an invitation to hang out.  He figures that a little human interaction can counteract the creeping feelings of sadness and worthlessness.

“Who?” he asks.

He draws his finger around the rim of his glass and plucks the slice of orange from it.

“Trunks Briefs,” she says. “Duh.  I mean, look at him.”

She hands over her phone and Goten looks at a picture from some annoying gossip website featuring a blurry picture of Trunks in heavy overalls mainlining coffee outside of Capsule Corps.  The picture is grainy but he can almost  _ feel _ the exhaustion in his boyfriend’s body.  His mother always said that Goten’s an empath and it’s always been more pronounced when it comes to Trunks.  He isn’t sure if it’s because he loves him or because they’ve been one person.  He supposes that it doesn’t matter.  He’s always been finely attuned to what Trunks is feeling.

He prods at the pulp of his orange slice and licks the juice from his finger.

“Oh.  Yeah.”

She nods and pulls her phone back. “Just such a shame he’s taken.”

Goten drops the orange slice.  They’ve always been careful to keep him out of the media.  It’s a sense of privacy.  When he was younger, he always featured in Trunks’s photos, posing with him after a workout or taking a selfie when they were underage in a club.  Since they got together, he’s been absent from them because he hates the concept of the paparazzi.  He hates the media spotlight.

“By who?” he asks, trying to sound genuinely curious.  He’s a bad actor but luckily none of his co-workers know him enough to sense it.

“There’s this girl who lives at Capsule Corps.  I think he’s with her.”

Goten searches for an answer and when it dawns on him he cracks up.

“Mai?!” he exclaims, loud despite himself. “He isn’t dating Mai.”

All attention is on him and Goten shoves the entirety of his orange slice in his mouth.  He takes the time to chew the pulp out and the time to pull the remaining rind from his teeth before answering.

“You know him?” the girl with the phone asks.

He nods, not sure what else to do.

“Wait...Goten.  Goten Son--Oh!” the second girl asks.  At his nod, she continues. “You fought Trunks in the 25th World Martial Arts Tournament, right?  My brother was in the junior division that year and you two were intense.  I remember.”

Goten takes a sip of beer and nods.  Honestly he’s surprised that anyone even remembers their fight.  It was fifteen years ago, after all, and sometimes Goten even forgets that his boyfriend was a junior world champion.  Maybe it’s because he quickly learned that it didn’t mean anything.  He and Trunks easily outclassed everyone in their age group.  The only person even close to their age that could approach their level was his cousin, Bardock, and he was half-alien, too.  That was the same day, too, where the world ended.  It was easy to forget the tournament after all of that.

“You’re still friends?” the first girl asks. “That’s so adorable.”

“Can you get him to give a me a loan?” a guy, one of the interns, asks with a laugh.

He rolls his glass between his hands and contemplates saying it all.  If they knew more than just looking at pictures of Trunks on shitty gossip websites, they’d know he was gay anyway.  He’s been out since he was fourteen.  Every year he and Goten go to charity balls and fundraisers for local LGBT charities.

“Friends, yeah,” he says and then adds, “Boyfriends, too.”

The two girls and everyone else look at him.

“You’re gay?” the same guy asks.

“Bi,” he clarifies because it matters to him.

The questions come after that but not about his sexuality.  About Trunks.  The genius who is the heir to billions upon billions.  Goten thinks about what they would say if he said that he was also the crown prince of a dead alien race.  He doesn’t bother and, honestly, he kind of thinks about leaving.  Hearing questions about him just reminds him that he hasn’t seen Trunks in days.

When he gets home later, warm from three beers, but not any less sad.  He wishes that it would pass.  It feels  _ wrong. _  He’s the one who looks on the bright side, the one who makes people feel better.  So why can’t he help himself?

\--

The apartment is empty the next day, too, but it feels cavernous, devoid of life.  Goten drags himself inside and drops his keys by the door.  His hands shake as he strips his scrubs off and it slips off of the shower knob twice before he actually gets the water to engage.  He stands under the spray until the weight of his day hits him and he slumps on the floor of the shower stall.  The water hits his head and drips down his forehead.  It’s lukewarm because their heater still isn’t working right but he barely feels it.

It’s always hard when he loses a patient.  He still isn’t used to it, especially when it’s a child.  Goten feels his body quake and he curses himself.  He doesn’t know why he’s dealing with it so badly.  A week ago, an old man died on his watch and it didn’t affect him like this.  Maybe it’s because it was a child.  Maybe it’s because saving lives is all he’s good at and he can’t even do that.  Over the pulse of water he hears the door open but he doesn’t think anything of it until the shower door slides open and he’s aware of a familiar, warm pulse of ki.

“Babe?”

Goten looks up and blinks water from his eyes to see Trunks.  He’s standing with his overalls bunched around his ankles and one thumb is hooked in the waistband of his boxer briefs.

“Hey,” he says shakily.

“I was going to surprise you by joining you for a sexy shower but you look upset.  What’s up?”

He tugs his underwear all the way down.  Stepping out of them, he climbs in the shower stall and slides the door shut.

“I lost a kid today,” he says quietly.

“Oh, baby.”

Trunks puts his arms around him and pulls him close.

“He was left out in a car,” he continues, “they said there was nothing that anyone could do, but I feel like shit.”

Trunks kisses his temple and then nuzzles his nose against him.

“Then there wasn’t,” he says, “because if there was even a miniscule chance that kid could be saved, you’d do it.  I know it.”

Goten closes his eyes and rests against him.  He keeps them closed as he feels Trunks’s fingers massage shampoo into his hair and then rinse it out.  After he’s dries off, he tugs on a pair of worn, plaid pajama pants and watches Trunks call in an order for takeout.  He feels minorly better, at least when it comes to work, but something keeps tugging at his bones.  Once he hangs up, Trunks settles next to him and smiles.  It’s the first time he’s seen him in days and Trunks looks.  Rough.  He has purple dents under his eyes darker than his hair and he looks like he hasn’t been eating.

“How’s work?” he asks.

He grunts. “Getting there.”

“What are you even working on?”

“Vegetables,” he says and then yawns. “We’re trying to engineer a high-yield seed that’ll make larger, more supple vegetables.  Super radishes...super beets...super saiyan broccoli…”

Goten laughs.

“Super saiyan broccoli?”

“Shit, did I say that?” Trunks yawns again and stretches his arms over his head. “I’m so fucking tired.”

Goten’s sadness ebbs away when he focus on something else--distraction.

“No shit.  You’re just like your parents.”

It’s a low blow but it’s one he uses to get Trunks to listen.  Sure enough, his boyfriend screws his face up and groans.

“Going for the big guns already?”

Goten cuddles against him and grins.

“Yep.  How many times did you complain because your dad was up all night training or your mom set up camp in her lab for, like, three days?”

“That’s  _ different,” _ Trunks says with a sigh.

“It’s literally the same.”

He’s glad that Trunks doesn’t bring up that Goten’s need to scold him for not taking care of himself is something he gets from  _ his _ mother.

“I’m fine,” he says and then yawns again. “I’ve barely felt tired.”

He can guess why.  But is he one to talk?  This weird, creeping, clinging sadness he can’t simply blame on losing a kid.  He doesn’t want to think about what it is, doesn’t think it’s possible.  Not for him.

“Well, you’re sleeping tonight.”

Trunks nods and rests his head on Goten’s shoulder.  With his arm, he reaches up and runs his fingers through his hair.  Goten closes his eyes at the contact and tips his head back.  A shiver works down his back and he arches into it.  He’s a sucker for touches, especially in his hair.

“Are you okay?” Trunks asks. “More than just the kid.  Is it because I’m gone?”

It is and it isn’t.  Goten can’t put it into words, doesn’t want to put it into words because that means admitting it.

“I’m fine,” he says.

Trunks looks skeptical and he remembers that he knows all of his tells.  Knows everything about him.

“I’ve had long work days, too,” he says, “and besides, I’m not a baby that can’t handle being alone for a few days.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

Trunks runs his fingers through his hair, rubs them gently against his scalp.  Before either of them can say more, the buzzer rings.  Trunks extracts himself from the couch and lets the delivery guy in.

“You having a party?” he asks.  Goten sees him peering over Trunks’s shoulder while his boyfriend signs the credit card slip. “This is enough food for, like, eight people.”

Trunks grins broadly. “Sure is.  Have a good evening.”

The delivery guy looks at him and then at the receipt.  His eyes light up, presumably at whatever tip Trunks left him, and he passes the bags over.  Trunks kicks the door shut and carries the armload of bags to the table.

“Do you wanna get plates or eat out of containers like animals?”

Goten feels disoriented from the earlier, more serious conversation, and now him joking about dinner.  Maybe that’s for the best, at least for now.  Eating always makes him feel better anyway and he hasn’t been doing enough of that lately, either.  Ten hour shifts at the hospital with few breaks don’t lend well to maintaining his incredible, alien appetite.

Even so, Goten thinks he eats maybe a third of what he normally eats.  If Trunks notices, he doesn’t say anything.  He eats the rest of it without saying it and that’s good--if he knows his boyfriend then he knows that he survives on coffee, cigarettes, and not much else when he’s working in the lab.  When he’s finished, Trunks leans back in his seat and jabs at his teeth with a toothpick.

“You barely ate anything,” he says and, shit--guess he did notice.

Goten shrugs. “Relatively speaking.  I still ate enough for two people.”

“And you usually eat enough for four.  Therefore…” Trunks chomps down on the toothpick and spits shards of wood on the table.  He leans forward and props his chin on his hands.

He sighs, not knowing what else to do, and starts gathering the takeout containers together.

“I’m fine,” he says automatically.  It’s easier, easier…

“Babe, you’re depressed.”

He hates the way Trunks says it so easily, like it’s nothing.  Like it’s not some ugly disease that gnaws on him when he tries to push it away because.  Because he’s Goten, the happy-go-lucky boy.  The boy who gets to be with the love of his life.  The boy who has a job that he loves in a peaceful world.  He  _ isn’t _ depressed--he  _ can’t be. _

“I’m not.”

Trunks starts stuffing the containers in the paper bag himself, eyeing Goten skeptically.

“Hey.  Look at my family.  I know mental illness: you’re depressed.”

Marron always says that not enough people told Trunks to be quiet growing up and it shows.  When they were teenagers, he would always speak loudly and speak his mind, damning the consequences.  Goten always appreciated it.  Where he was taught to be polite and nice to everyone, even if they hassled him, Trunks was there as his fearless best friend who told them to fuck off.  Right now, though?  Right now he’s just annoyed.  Especially when he  _ knows _ Trunks spent the last five days in a mania-powered fugue.

“I know that look,” he continues.  He snatches a styrofoam clamshell from Goten’s hand and shoves it into the bulging bag of trash. “I  _ know _ I’m not one to talk.  It’s hard to forget when you’re taking meds every day.”

He places a light kiss on Goten’s lips and continues bussing the table.

“Okay, so I’m depressed,” he says to make things simple. “So what?”

Trunks finishes cramming the containers in the bag and is now trying to shove the bulging bag in their tiny trashcan.  Goten winces at the sound of styrofoam scraping the plastic.  When it’s about as in as it’s going to get, Trunks steps back and puts his hands on his hips.

“So we deal with it.  Just like we deal with my shit.” He cocks his head to the side. “You have the day off tomorrow, right?”

Reflexively, Goten scratches his bare chest and bites his lip.

“Yeah.”

Trunks smiles widely. “Good.  Then so do I.”

He dusts his hands off as if to say “that’s that” and walks towards the bedroom.  Goten trails after him, confused.

“What about your super saiyan vegetables?” he asks.

“They can wait a day.”

Trunks flops on the bed and grabs the remote to turn on the TV.  Goten crawls in next to him, unsure of his game.

“You spent five days working nonstop and now I’m a little sad and you’re screwing off work?”

“When you put it that way…”

He stops his search for a show and places the remote down on the bed.  Trunks reaches out and strokes the flat of his thumb over Goten’s cheek.

“Because you need me and we  _ both _ deserve a break.  You, especially.”

Trunks has a wild selfish streak where he does things like lock himself up for days to make hybrid vegetables or whatever but there are times where he’s the most thoughtful person in the world.

“Recharge,” he says. “Just you and me.”

He likes the sound of that.  He settles next to Trunks.

“What do you wanna watch?” he asks and gestures with the remote.

Goten looks at him and takes the device from his hand.  He turns the TV off and kisses him.

“Oh.” A smile curls onto Trunks’s face. “A little earlier in tonight’s festivities but I don’t mind.”

He kisses him back and he feels Trunks’s hands in his hair again.  He’s missed him, his touch, his everything.

It doesn’t take long.  They’ve long since gotten into a routine when it comes to sex.  Back when they first got together, they were trying new things, new positions, every night to try and see what they liked.  Now they  _ know _ and it’s easy to fall into their habits when they’ve been away from one another for nearly a week.  Trunks works him from behind, his teeth in the joint between his shoulder and neck.  He teases him with his fingers and Goten arches back into him.

When he’s in him, Trunks runs his thumbs firmly on the tight muscles of his back.

“So tight,” he murmurs.

“My ass or my back?” he asks back.

“Your back, smartass.”

Trunks bends over and places a wet kiss on the knobs of his spine.  He works him slowly, agonizingly and, not for the first time, Goten wonders if it’s going to be like this forever.  This good, this hot.

“I’m going to turn you around,” he says a few moments later. “I want to look at you.”

Goten turns with Trunks’s hands so they’re facing one another.  They move together in a long memorized rhythm and when they’re done, Goten cleans himself up, pulls his pants back on, and they settle back into bed.  It’s comforting and he feels better, less touch-starved, less anxious and sad.  It’s lingering, he can feel it, but it’s at bay.

“Oh,” he says. “I went out with some of my co-workers last night.”

“Yeah?  How did that go?”

“Two of the girls are in love with you and now they all want to be my friend after I said we were dating.”

Trunks laughs. “You came out?”

“Well, they asked if I was gay so I had to clarify.”

“Clari-bi.”

Goten bites his shoulder lightly. “Do not.”

He laughs again and nuzzles into his neck again.

“What about the longterm?” he asks.

“Depends on what you want to do.”

Trunks tugs the covers over them both and presses his forehead against his.

“But we can figure it out tomorrow or the next day or whenever.  Right now, we’re going to watch some cheesy, shitty movie, go to bed, and then tomorrow I’ll wake you up with totally awesome morning sex and then make us breakfast.”

It almost sounds perfect.  Goten smirks.

“Make us breakfast?”

“I will order us breakfast,” he amends.

“That’s what I thought.”

Goten curls up in his arms and grabs the remote.  Whatever is going on won’t be fixed just by cuddles and sex and some b-movie but they don’t hurt.

**Author's Note:**

> http://vertigoats.tumblr.com


End file.
